what the hell
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: "All right, I'll ask." He pauses, looking back at the unconscious girl on the back seat... and says, "What the hell is a Stiles?"
1. Chapter 1

**I don't normally write crossovers, so I apologize if this is awful. I've had this idea in my head for a while, figured I'd give it a go. It's not set during any particular season for either of the shows, just using the basic characters/premise for each. This will be a very light two-shot, not even sure if anyone's interested. But hey, I had fun writing it, so I guess that's all that matters. If you have a minute, please review. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can.**

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/

Last week they were in Oklahoma; this week it's a small town in California. It sounded pretty – Beacon Hills – but the reality is disappointing. It feels like the reality is always disappointing. But they're here to do a job, not take in the scenery, which would be all well and good except for the fact that they can't seem to find a decent place to eat.

"Take the next left," Dean instructs.

Sam glances over at him. "Are you sure?"

"Trust me."

The next left leads them to a dead-end. As Sam's reversing out he gives his brother another disapproving look. Dean rolls his eyes.

"This is why you're in charge of navigating," he reminds him.

"And I wouldn't have had to take over driving if you hadn't nearly hit that truck back on the freeway."

"I was never going to hit it!"

"You were two inches away from the back of it -"

"And I wouldn't have been if it hadn't suddenly slowed down -"

Their bickering fills the car, fills the empty spaces, keeps them busy until they finally pull up outside a diner on the main street. As soon as their food arrives they're back to business, talking in hushed voices out of habit rather than necessity – there's no one else here.

It's nothing unusual, not really. A nest of vampires, holed up just outside of town. Trying to lure unsuspecting victims to them. As they're going over the finer points of their plan, they're interrupted. A group of teenagers – two boys and a girl – tumble through the door, talking quickly and quietly, but their voices grow louder and more alarmed as they reach a booth near the back.

The Winchesters stay where they are for a moment, their conversation falling silent as they listen to the teenagers. They're not talking much sense – something about the Sheriff and a pack. They're probably drunk.

After a shared look, Sam and Dean leave the diner. They've still got vampires to take care of, but they can deal with them tomorrow. For now, the only thing either of them wants is a good night's sleep.

/

Between the pair of them they get maybe five hours. Sam spends most of the night reading up on the history of the town, just in case there's something they've missed. It seems like there's been a lot of suspicious activity here in the past couple years – murders, disappearances, weird animal attacks. He wonders why they've never been here before.

Dean, on the other hand, spends most of his night in the hotel room next door, having met its very attractive female occupant at the bar earlier that night. No prizes for guessing how they passed the midnight hours.

But as soon as the sun goes down the next day, the Winchester brothers fall back into their professional roles. This may not be the most challenging case they've ever worked, but they know very well the price of being complacent. They can't afford to screw up.

They find the nest, exactly where Bobby had said it would be. It's easy enough to break into the old building and take out the pair of inexperienced vampires they left on guard. The room they walk into appears to be empty, until suddenly it isn't.

The damn things swarm in, surrounding them, fangs bared and a low hiss collectively emanating from them. Sam and Dean stand back to back, preparing for what will inevitably be a bloody fight.

It is, but it's over quickly. The brothers emerge victorious, albeit covered in blood, and as they watch the last vampire fall they turn their attention to the rest of the building.

Because they're suddenly aware that they're not alone.

/

The hunters split up, checking every room that branches off from the main one. It's Dean who finds the hostages, and calls Sam to come and help. There are five of them, all teenage girls. Each one is tied to a chair, eyes closed and blood dribbling down their necks.

"Damn it." Dean presses his fist to his mouth, cursing himself for not getting there sooner.

Sam takes a more practical approach, checking each of them for a pulse. One by one; he shakes his head, feeling sicker by the second. Until the last girl. He feels a flutter as his fingers press against her wrist, and she even lets out a low moan.

"She's still alive," Sam says, gesturing to Dean.

Between the two of them they manage to untie her. She tumbles forward into Sam's arms, and he struggles to lift her up. It looks like she's lost a lot of blood, and he's not sure she can support her own weight. She's barely conscious, mumbling something they can't hear.

"It's okay," Sam says as they start to take her back to the car. "It's okay, you're safe now. We'll take you to the hospital -"

"No," she murmurs, a clear enough word for them to understand this time. Sam slows down, giving her a curious look.

"What?" he asks.

Her eyes flutter open long enough to fix him with a gaze that's swimming with pain but bright with clarity. "Not the hospital," she says, her voice growing fainter with each word. "Stiles…"

Her head slumps against Sam's shoulder; she's out cold. They get her back to the car and set her up in the back seat, managing to stop the worst of the bleeding. When they're sure she's not in serious danger, they allow themselves a moment of confusion.

When they're both seated in the car – Dean back in the driver's seat – the brothers share a look.

Dean taps his fingers against the steering wheel. "All right, I'll ask." He pauses, looking back at the unconscious girl on the back seat. Then he turns to his brother and says, "What the hell is a Stiles?"

/

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**Oh yeah. This is totally a Stydia story by the way.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, wow. I was not expecting such a response to this story, so thank you for that everyone! As I said before this isn't set during any particular season - just assume a lot of the same stuff has happened, with fewer character deaths. This chapter ended up way lighter on the Stydia than I thought, so I apologize for that. Although this was initially intended as a two-shot, I have a couple ideas for another chapter or two, so if anyone's really keen to see that just let me know and I'll see what I can whip up. Once again, I'm not too great with humor or crossovers, so combining them may still be a stupid thing. Let's see if you guys like the second chapter as much as you liked the first...**

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/

Last week it was demons, this week it's vampires. It had sounded cool at first, but they'd underestimated them. Stiles had made no fewer than seven Twilight jokes, and even Scott hadn't seemed too concerned. Until Lydia didn't show up to a pack meeting.

She's been missing for almost twenty four hours, and yeah, they're starting to worry.

The whole pack is assembled at Stiles' house: Scott and Allison holding hands on the couch; Stiles and Kira perched on the arms of the sofa; Malia and Isaac hovering on the edges of the room. It's tense, to say the least.

"We need to do something," Scott says, standing up.

Allison stands up too, and then sits back down when she realizes there's nothing they can do.

"We've looked for her," Kira reminds him. "You lost her scent, and no one's seen her since yesterday."

"I'm with Scott," Stiles announces, getting to his feet too, more because he needs to do something than because he thinks there's something useful he can actually do. "Lydia's missing, and we can't just sit around here waiting for her to show up on the doorstep -"

The doorbell rings.

Stiles glances at Scott; Allison and Kira share a look; Malia narrows her eyes; Isaac seems indifferent.

Cautiously Stiles goes to the door, not quite daring to hope but unable to let go of the tiniest flicker of optimism. But when he throws open the door, the person standing there isn't a familiar strawberry blonde banshee.

It's two strangers, tall guys with grim faces and FBI badges. They introduce themselves as Agents Someone-or-other and What's-his-face – Stiles isn't really listening – and ask if he's Stiles.

He is, but he's also distracted.

"These are fake," he announces, tossing the badges back at them. The two strangers share a look.

"Excuse me?" says the taller of the two, the one with a slightly friendlier look in his eyes.

"They're fake," Stiles repeats. He folds his arms and glares at the two guys. "Who are you and what do you want?"

The shorter of the two sighs. "All right. I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam -" he jerks his head toward the guy beside him "- and we need to talk to you."

/

They get straight to business. Sam and Dean stand in the middle of the room, seeming slightly confused by the fact that a pack of teenage misfits is surrounding them. But they don't let it deter them, and they speak directly to Stiles.

"Do you know a redhead, about five foot two?" Sam asks him. "She's about your age, quite pretty -"

Stiles tilts his head, shooting a look at Scott. The alpha nods, letting him know it's okay to answer. "No," Stiles says, watching Dean and Sam share a meaningful look that means absolutely nothing to him, "but I do know a strawberry blonde who's about five foot three."

Sam blinks a couple times; Dean closes his eyes in frustration like he's considering strangling Stiles. This doesn't bother him; Stiles is used to seeing that expression.

"Right." Dean opens his eyes, his voice brisk. "Well, we found her. And we overheard you lot -" he points to Stiles, Scott, and Allison "- talking in the diner last night. That's how we knew who you were. Your friend, the redhead -"

"Strawberry blonde," Stiles corrects quietly.

"- she said not to take her to the hospital," Dean goes on as if Stiles hadn't spoken. "She said we needed to take her to you."

Stiles tries not to feel too pleased by this, which is easy enough because anxiety quickly replaces any pride. "Where is she now?" he asks. "Is she okay?"

Sam and Dean share another one of their significant looks. "She's in the back of our car," Dean says, evidently deciding he can trust them – or at least he can take them out should they prove to be a threat.

Stiles is already halfway to the door, Allison and Scott on his heels. Sam and Dean – whoever they are – follow, watching carefully as Stiles and Scott gently pull Lydia out of the car and help her up to the house. She's barely conscious, her eyes flickering open and closed, her breathing shallow; but she's alive.

Scott scrunches up his nose, clearly made uncomfortable by the scent of her blood, so when they reach the house Stiles says "I've got it" and Scott lets go. Once Stiles has set Lydia up in his bed – Scott had taken some of her pain, and now she's sleeping – he comes back down to find Sam and Dean still there, sitting down in chairs dragged in from the kitchen, facing the pack.

Stiles sits down next to Scott, wishing he could just be back up with Lydia already. But there's nothing more he can do – he'd already bandaged the wounds on her neck, and he's pretty sure she's not about to die from blood loss – so he may as well stick around.

"So who are you?" Scott asks, suspicion bleeding into his words.

It doesn't seem to faze Sam or Dean.

"We're hunters," Dean tells them, and suddenly it all starts to make sense.

/

Half an hour later, they're all caught up. Stiles has the feeling that both sides have skipped parts of their story – Sam had made an offhand remark about an apocalypse they averted, and Scott had skimmed right past the whole werejaguar-in-Mexico incident, for example – but they seem to be on the same page. And on the same side of the fight, which is good.

The hunters explain how they tracked the vampires, how they found the hostages, how Lydia was the only one to survive. The pack grows silent, listening, and then it's their turn to explain – who they are, what they are, how they came to be that way.

When it's all over, the two out-of-town hunters are silent.

Then Dean frowns and says, "So let me get this straight. You two are werewolves -" pointing at Scott and Isaac "- and you're a were_coyote_ -" looking at Malia "- and you two are humans -" gesturing to Allison and Stiles "- and you're some kind of Japanese fox thing -"

"Kitsune," Kira supplies.

"Right. And the girl we just rescued, she's a – kanima, was that it?"

"No," Stiles says, surprised that he actually has to explain this again. Dean's as bad as his dad, thinking every other supernatural creature is a kanima. There had only been one, for crying out loud. "She's a banshee."

"Oh. So who was the kanima?"

"Jackson," Allison says.

Dean turns to Sam and mutters, "Which one's Jackson again?"

"He's not here," Isaac explains. "He's in London."

"London," Dean repeats. "Of course. You sent a homicidal lizard to London."

"He's not the kanima anymore," Kira says patiently. "He's just a werewolf."

At this point Dean and Sam seem to give up on this line of questioning.

"Okay," Sam says, "so you guys are like a – like a pack, right?"

There are a few murmurs of agreement.

"And that means you have an alpha, someone to lead you," Dean says, and again the pack agrees. "Who is it?"

Tentatively, Scott raises his hand. Sam and Dean burst out laughing.

"Nice try, kid," Dean says, "but seriously. Where's your alpha?"

"I'm the alpha," Scott says, and when they keep laughing he lets his eyes glow red. That shuts them up.

"Well I'll be damned," Dean says, and he sounds almost impressed.

"So the fate of this town is resting with a bunch of teenagers?" Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

Scott shrugs.

"Beacon Hills is doomed," Dean murmurs.

Stiles laughs. "Tell me about it."

/

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**Don't forget to review. :)**


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